Awkward Adventures
by otahotian
Summary: Ella told me to write a blog. I did. Anderson told me to stay away from Sherlock. I didn't. My father told me to do whatever it is I want to. I did. My sister told me to fall in love with a pretty, kind and boring woman, who has three cats. I didn't.
1. New Blog

**I admit, I fell for Johnlock. And also - this is probably the first time I am writing something for it to be a bit 'slashy'. That was more of the forte of Oro (the other - now slightly inactive - part of this glorious, insane account), so have patience with me.**

**John's blog. AU, of course.**

* * *

**16th December**

Ella told me to try writing a blog. She thinks I should write down everything that happens to me. The problem is, nothing ever happens to me.

See Ella? I told you.

But anyway, Ella – since you are the only one reading this – you told me to do something with my life and I did. I managed to find a job – and what's weird is, that I will be working at a _school_ of St. Bart's. With Mike Stamford, my mate from the time of our studies.

I will be playing the school 'nurse'.

Isn't that fun, Ella? I spent more then five years saving lives of my comrades in war and now I will be handing pain-killers to children.

I am starting tomorrow.

* * *

**And I am as well. :)**

**Leave a message, I am curious.**


	2. New Job

**17th December**

It's the last lesson of the day and I don't think anyone will be coming here right now, unless they stab themselves with a pen. For a _first_ day in a new work it was rather hectic.

One broken arm, two concussions, few cuts and one rather interesting burn.

See, Ella? Something interesting actually happened while I was trying to calm down a panicked girl, who thought she was pregnant. She wasn't. Thanks god.

But anyway. What happened was bizarre enough for me to wish to be back in the war zone.

Just when the girl decided she is calm enough to leave, the door opened and one of my colleagues walked in. Her name is Molly Hooper and she is a nice girl. We talked in the morning and she told me she is keeping a blog as well.

We swapped links so maybe she is reading this as well.

Isn't that great? I have two readers.

And one of them is my psychiatrist. Hi Ella!

Just for the record, Molly is nice and the bizarre thing that happened had (almost) nothing to do with her.

So. Molly comes in, looking panicked. I send the girl who isn't pregnant back to her class and Molly tells me she has a patient who got burned and refuses to come, so if I _maybe_ could follow her and have a look at him.

I agree. It's my job helping the students.

The problem is, it's not a student. It's a professor. I think someone told me he teaches the physics. Was it Mike?

Not important.

_Sherlock Holmes_. The professor. Yes, Ella? _He_ is your man. You should invite him over for a cuppa. I am not sure who would end up analyzing whom, though.

When we came, he was holding some test-tube filled with something looking like an acid. His whole left hand was angrily red, burned? That's what was Molly talking about? It didn't look particularly nice.

I will try to retell the situations exactly how it happened:

When Molly entered, pulling me behind her, the professor looked up. Not at her, but at me. I felt as if I was being X-rayed.

"Oh, Molly!" his eyes quickly darted at her, almost absently, before he turned his attention to his test-tubes. "I sent you to get me a coffee and you return with a man."

And that's how he is. Arrogant, witty, irritating. But fascinating. So fascinating. And I think Molly knows that as well, because she is the one trying to take care of him. Not that she has any success.

"Yes. This is Dr. Watson." she chirped and smiled. It didn't look very genuine (sorry, Molly), it looked more as if she was nervous and smiling was the only thing she could do.

"I know." Sherlock gave me fleeting look and _very_ dishonest half-smile, before looking back down at his 'experiment'. "The doctor seems to be wearing a name tag."

That caught me off guard and I looked down at my jumper to make sure, even though I _knew_ I was wearing it. That's what makes him so fascinating – he makes me do the weirdest things. Because this is not all. We kept on 'talking'.

Well, _he_ kept on talking and I was forced to listen.

"The new doctor, ex-soldier from Afghanistan, lost his comrades and got shot. The shoulder I would presume by the way his left hand is shaking when I talk about war. Psychosomatic limp."

Molly somehow managed to slip away, obviously hoping I would be able to solve it myself.

Thanks Molly.

I just hope no one came to find a doctor while I was away, trying to talk professor Holmes into letting me look at his injury. Another thing to say about him – he is childish.

He refused to let me see his wounds until his experiment is completed. So naturally, I got to help him. Cheers. Oh – we put the lab on fire as well.

But he is kind of brilliant, isn't he? Knowing all those things about me – he even knew I had a sibling (from my phone). Only, he thought it's a brother, since we all call Harriet 'Harry'.

Oh, yeah, Ella – he cured my limp. How, you ask me?

Easy. We managed to make the experiment implode or something, destroying the lab and needed to.. well.. keep ourselves away from the principal for a bit.

And Sherlock's way of hiding is obviously running around the school, playing hide and seek with our employers. And other teachers and students. We even hid in a lecture room, trying to look like students, but failing miserably, because we kept on giggling every time the professor mentioned 'fire' or 'chemistry' or physical laws.

And right after then, when he rather gallantly escorted me to the infirmary and _finally _let me clean and cover his wounds_,_ I realized I left my cane in the lab.

So, that's it, Ella. That was my first day in my new work. And you know what? You were right. I should have done this much, much sooner.

For the first time since I returned to London I am actually looking forward the next morning.

I will try to write again tomorrow, when I get back from work.

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**Review? :) Pretty please?**

**Anyway, it's 17th December, I have only 4 more days - I don't think the story will be finished in time.**

**Smile.**


	3. New Friend

**18th December**

No fun today, Ella. But I met the principal, he looks like surprisingly nice guy.

But starting from the start – I went to work, met Professor Holmes who obviously saw it fit to ignore me, even though I greeted him. I have no idea why, maybe I said something to offend him. Or maybe he's just a jerk.

Trough the second period I got called of to the Principal Office. I would lie if I said I wasn't nervous. I had met the principal only once, when he shook my hand and gave me his welcome, before hurrying of somewhere else.

Principal Lestrade is a busy man, right? Well – he told me to call him _Greg_ or _Gregory_. Yes, of course. 'Principal Greg', that sounds good.

Notice the sarcasm.

He handed me my cane and I was just waiting for him to scold me or whatever it is the principal does, but he just warned me to 'be careful when dealing with Sherlock'. And what he gave me for a reason?

That it's not _healthy_ to be around him more often than once a month.

I told him that what I thought is unhealthy, is listening to professor Anderson talk.

Principal Greg than told me to call him Principal Greg and sent me away, while choking with laughter. I am starting to think that the school is full of lunatics.

The rest of the day was pretty boring. Mike visited me over the free period and brought me lunch, Anderson kept on appearing trough the day to 'chat'. I swear to god he is boring enough to kill the Queen.

I went to get a drink after work with some guys from our former rugby team.

While it wasn't really 'fun', it was better than I thought it would.

* * *

**No Sherlock today :( Too sad.. but I like Greg (and I even like Anderson, he is funny when Sherlock makes fun of him).**

**See you tomorrow!**

**Smile,**

**me.**


	4. New Crush

**19th December**

Work was very uneventful today. Nothing happened. Other than few small injuries from the students and I think Anderson tried to hit on me.

I hope he didn't, if just because of the fact he is _married_ and dating the PE professor, Sally Donovan.

Principal Greg found his way to the infirmary and claimed it was because he needed some peace. I think he was hiding in there, though I have not clue as to why. At the end we played gomoku for over two hours.

However, I didn't get to meet the captivating professor Holmes again. I haven't seen him since yesterday, when we passed on the corridor. I almost went to his lab just to talk to him, but realized I was just acting stupid.

After all, if he doesn't want to talk to me, I won't force my company upon him.

I think you can find something to analyze about this situation, right, Ella? Well, for the first time I could really use your explanation.

Also – I called my sister and we talked. She misses Clara and I know Clara misses her as well. I will try to nudge them closer to each other a bit.

I will write more tomorrow.


	5. New Game

**20th December**

Another day at work.

It was a good day, actually. Somehow and for some reason Principal Greg visited me again. I defeated him five times straight in the game, but I have to admit he was good.

Just in the middle of our sixth 'heated' game, the infirmary door crashed open and in swirled Sherlock Holmes, all arms, legs and coat, and stood over us. I can't really explain what happened next, but I will try.

He looked positively disgusted by our way of spending time, but didn't comment. He just frowned at the principal – and _sent him away_.

Honestly, he just came and told the principal to 'leave at once', without even explaining why. And the weirdest was, that Lestrade just stood up and left.

I kept on staring at the professor, waiting for him to _explain_, but he just sat down and without a word draw a circle down onto our 'battlefield', obviously taking over where we left. He defeated me in less then ten turns and all the time I felt as if he was looking at _me_, instead of at the paper.

After that, he leaned back into the chair folding his arms over his head and said:

"With that finished, I want to talk."

He _had_ a nerve. I asked him what he wanted to consult, trying to keep things as formal as possible.

He told me to call him 'Sherlock' and didn't explain.

Actually, I think he haven't told me, still.. That's weird, isn't it..

Nothing really happened, we talked and it looked as if he really listened to me, which was surprising. He is like a force of nature, always in a constant motion, _alive_. He is so alive I can't look away from him, not even for a second.

He stayed twenty minutes, before getting up and darting out of the room just as quickly as when he came in.

He didn't say why, just left, in the middle of a sentence. _His own _sentence.

You should definitely meet him, Ella.

Also, I talked to Molly a bit more, she told me about her new boyfriend Jim, he sounds like a nice enough guy, if a bit boring. Sorry Molly!

She told me she would like me to meet him and I didn't refuse quickly enough, so tomorrow I have to go out with the two of them for a cup of tea. Sorry Molly, it's just.. well – I know you understand, you are a smart girl.

Cheers. Maybe I can get Sherlock to join us? Not that we know each other well enough.. Maybe I could ask Principal Greg instead, he already told me he would like to go for a cup of something, sometimes.

I will see to it tomorrow.

* * *

**Ah! Sherlock is back and just as insufferable as usual! **

**Read, Review and also Smile,  
me.**


	6. New Boyfriend

**21th December**

I have only one comment for today: What the Fuck? And really, I mean it.

It happened like this:

I went to work right on time. When I passed the bakery a black car stopped in front of me, blocking my way. I looked up to see a young girl looking intently down at her phone. She opened the car door to me and told me to 'Kindly enter the car, doctor Watson.'. How did she know my name is a mystery.

That's not all, though. I entered the car and we took off – I tried talking to the girl and she told me she is 'Anthea' and no, it's not her true name. She stayed silent for the rest of the travel.

When we stopped, she sent me out of the car – we were in an old warehouse and there was a lone figure of a man. Obviously, he tried to look intimidating while leaning against an umbrella. I flet a sudden urge to laugh.

That, however, didn't last long. Right until the man told me he wants me to spy on Sherlock. Funny. I told him exactly where he can put that offer and he looked rather scandalized.

Fortunately, he then sent me back to the car and the woman whose name wasn't Anthea sat next to me again and the driver drove us back to school.

I wasn't even _that_ late. But still late enough to earn another visit from our good principal, this time accompanied with a chess board.

He won every fucking time and agreed to accompany me to Molly's almost-date.

Nothing much happened. There seems to be an epidemy of pox in the school, though, because I sent seven students home. They had all fever and appearing on the backs of their hands were small red dots. I will have to remember to eat more vitamines and be careful to fall ill the latest possible.

I haven't had them, yet.

The incubation period is around two weeks, meaning I had those before I will have to hide at home, not to infect anyone else.

The date after work was interesting. There is something a bit _weird_ about Molly's boyfriend. He works in IT and seems very smart. But his eyes are _different_.

I am not sure if I should try to get to know him better or run away as fast as possible. But Molly honestly looks _happy_ with him and that's good. I know she was madly in love with _someone else_, whom I will not name because she is reading this – Hi, Molly – and dating Jim could be good for her.

He and Greg didn't get along, though, for some reason. They kept on snapping at each other and we – Molly and me – felt as if being in a crossfire.

In the end we spent two _long_ hours in the pub, before giving each other an awkward 'good buy' and going our separate ways.

I think I should find a hobby, though. I have a terrible amount of free times on my hands. Maybe I could try paintball or something.

I will try to write more tomorrow, if I am still alive and not killed by the hands of Sherlock's 'arch-enemy', or the professor himself.

I didn't mention that, right? Well – we met again. He ran into the infirmary claiming that he needed my help, and then he proceeded to drag me to the roof and played spidermen while jumping from one roof to the other. And it was fucking cold, because he had somehow forgotten to warn me beforehand and I didn't take my jacket.

What was the reason of this little walk, I will never know.

Oh – we ended at the roof of the cinema and Holmes stated that is the dead end. He climbed down and disappeared God knows where, leaving me standing on the rooftop.

I got lost going back to school, but managed in time for my another pox patient. Cheers.

Which reminds me that I should maybe visit Ella sometimes to have a chat, before I loose the last bit of my sanity. Oh – and my sister told me she reads my blog.

Hi, Harry. Stop texting me every damn five minutes, you are annoying.

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**Liked it? Hated it? :) **

**Looks like this will be the last chapter before the end of the world ;) Let's see if I will be allowed to post the next chapter tomorrow. I will try, if I am not drowning in the infinite depths of the hell fires.**

**Smile (it confuses people),  
me.**


	7. New Blog Follower

**22nd December**

Friday today. I have a free day tomorrow and the day after as well and I still don't know what to do with myself, now that I finally woke up from my apathy.

Every time I try to just sit down and _relax_, I remember our mad run over the rooftops or the first day I met professor Holmes and the adrenalin is soaring trough my vains again, making me jumpy and hyperactive.

I think_ that_'s pretty safe to write here and not _much_ is now. Why? That's because today _three_ fucking people told me they are reading this. Principal Greg, Anderson and _Professor Holmes_.

That's enough to make me read everything I write at least three times before I post it, if only for the fact Holmes informed me my grammar and spelling is atrocious. Also, I am sure there are things I don't want these people to read.

Too bad I can't remove or correct my previous entries.

About my day.

I went to work, worked and went home. That's all.

Well, almost.

I also sent home ten more people with pox. One boy managed to crack his head open and I brushed up my sewing skills and for the first time I saw both Professor Holmes _and_ Anderson at the same place.

The insults were rather creative, if I have to say it myself, but I kind of feel sorry for Anderson. He can't really help the fact Holmes is smarter than him – hell, Holmes is smarter than _everyone_ I know – and Anderson is a nice guy. When he isn't confronted with Sherlock Holmes.

The good thing about having Professor Holmes visit the infirmary is, that he scares everyone away with just a _look_. Too bad he scares the patients as well, and I had to go out to find at least three students who ran off.

Oh, another thing. My sister stopped reading my blog on the internet. That's because she is staying over with me for a week and reads it over my shoulders even _before_ I post it.

Cheers.


	8. New Information

**23rd December**

It's Sunday.

I called Mike and three other guys from our school days and we went out to play the Laser Game. My team won, probably because of the fact I am the only one from us who ever got to hold a real gun.

Not that the game was any realistic.

We played two times and I have to admit I am _tired_. Even though I abandoned their tactics of running around and around the arena, but picked up a strategical position and staid there.

Also, I need to talk to Principal Greg tomorrow morning, about the security at school. I think too much people now know my phone number, even though I told _no one_. Honestly. If the reports are _that_ easy to read, surely Gregory would do something about it, lest I get to know his address and sign him up for some ridiculous happening.

Why am I so angry about this? Also, stop giggling into my ear, Harry, because I was a soldier and I won't hesitate to kick you.

In the morning, I got a message from Professor Holmes, informing me, I should stop writing him as 'Professor Holmes', because he already told me to call him Sherlock. Also, he asked me if I would be able to get him a skull, because his one got broken. In the third message (I hadn't managed to answer him, yet) he told me to just tell Mycroft (who is obviously the guy who kidnapped me) to piss off next time he tries.

If I didn't already plan on doing just that, I would have told _Sherlock_ to piss off. It was _five_ fucking o'clock.

I texted him 'I will see what I can do', but obviously, I will call him whatever I want to, so he can kiss my backside.

Then – thankfully it was 8 already – Anderson called me to tell me he reads my blog and that I should stay away from Sherlock. That he is dangerous. Thank you, I didn't know that.

Notice the sarcasm.

That he will just use me and than abandon me. Than he will never appreciate me. I asked him if he needed something and he ended the call.

Also – I decided not to bother with censuring the blog, because if I write something they didn't want to know, it's their own damn fault for reading this, isn't it.

I went out for a moment and it took me half the time to do the round I usually do, because I don't limp anymore. Then I called Ella to get an appointment, we will be meeting this Thursday.

Tomorrow is Christmas day, I asked Harry if she thinks I should clean here a bit, but she told me it would be better if I didn't, because even now the flat is far to tidy for her. Also she told me she decided to spend her Christmas _here_, only because she didn't want to clean.

I know it's only half the truth, but I decided not to ask her (hopefully she won't read this, she is asleep now), because like always she wants to keep me in the dark to _protect_ me. That's what older siblings are for, she would say and it's probably easier not to argue.

I will try to write tomorrow – I realized I won't have to go to work tomorrow, which is a bit shame because I will be bored, and I won't get to ask Greg about the security – if Harry doesn't have plans for us.


	9. New Old Enemy

**24th December**

It's Christmas today. Cheers. I almost choked on a fish bone, Harry put our table-cloth on fire and we went to visit our father. It was a visit to remember. I don't think he even recognized us this time. I took a look at the old injury on his head and other than the faded scar there was nothing. Such a small thing, just a small, white dash on the side of his forehead and he was never the same.

I shouldn't be so depressing on Christmas, right?

Oh, I finally found out why was Harry so skittish. She left her newspaper on the chair and I read it – Adam Ostranski was released from the jail. He walks free.

After what he did, what he did to me and Harry and our dad, he walks free.

I punched the wall and bruised my fingers. I wanted to scream myself hoarse, but Harry was nervous around me even _without_ that, so I went out.

It's been long since I went jogging and it helped me to breath again.

When I got back Harry was just stirring something on the cooker and it surprisingly smelled delicious. I forgot just how good is my sister in cooking. She is a genius, I will burn even a soup if I tried.

Also, this year we are having a white Christmas, isn't that nice? It's been so long since the last time.. I asked Harry to come out with me after the lunch and we had a snow fight. We returned home wet, cold and giggling.

Harry is reading something right now – I never thought I would see that day. She looks so calm. It reminds me of those nights I climbed into her bed because I kept having nightmares and she would silently read me aloud until I felt asleep.

I was thinking whether I should write those 'Merry Christmas' messages to friends and colleagues, but I decided not to. I kept my phone turned off so that I will have a day of peace.

Well, as much as _that_ is possible with Harry around.

So Merry Christmas to you all! To you who read this and to you who don't.

I hate Christmas.


	10. New War

**25****th**** December**

Fucking Christmas.

I fucking _hate_ Christmas.

Really.

Oh, and I made the mistake of turning my phone back on when I woke up. Harry is still snoring, so I decided to wait for her with getting presents. Well, she bought me a book and I guess it's about medicine _again_. Maybe I could have told her I want socks.

Or a gun. I could use that. Eh. No. Forget it.

I bought her a flower-y dress. Not my idea, Clara chose it, but don't let Harry know. Well, not until she reads this blog, anyway. Maybe I will block this page on her laptop, that would solve it.

Yes. Gotta do that.

Ha! I did it. Harry will be surprised.

But I still hate Christmas.

Really, it's so fucking depressing. And _cold_.

I should probably write something about yesterday evening, but it's still morning and I don't really know if it's a good idea.

Well, onto less depressing thoughts. I turned my phone on and got about seventeen messages from Professor _Sherlock_. Let's look.

**John. I hate my brother, I am going to kill him. -SH**

I am not sure _when_ exactly did I tell him to call me _John_. But he seriously seems to disregard all boundaries and I would be _very_ surprised if he even knew what 'personal space' is.

The next one.

**How long does it take for polonium to affect the victim? -SH**

Poor Holmes's brother, really. And I am afraid the professor has a strange liking for poisons, look.

**Is the poison contained in the fugu fish hemotoxin, myotoxin or neurotoxin? -SH**

Or other:

**Why do people use polonium, when botulotoxin is 100 times more effective than polonium? Why are people so _stupid_ anyway? -SH**

Honestly, is he some kind of an assassin? Well, I guess those information _could_ be useful.. more so when he wrote, that 'botulotoxin is almost impossible to trace', when used.

Isn't that fascinating? No.

I should stop storing these information, I am _not_ going to poison anyone. Even though.. well, _no_.

I am a _doctor_, I know what poisons do, I have seen it before, and it wasn't nice. Botulism is not nice. Even more so when I didn't know how to help those affected and could just _watch_. Fucking watch it when they died. Drowned, or fell, or got hit by a wandering bullet. Or they heart just gave up at the end.

That's why I hate poisons. I saw soldiers covered by phosphor and was unable to operate them. It was even worse than seeing soldiers with grenades in their stomachs, threatening to explode any minute.

Harry is awake. Dancing around the flat in my shirt and ridiculous reindeer headband, humming some ridiculous carol. Really. It's just so fucking ridiculous, I can't help but laugh.

She opened the present and changed the shirt for the dress. She looks pretty, but she should honestly put down the headband. I am glad Harry is happy. Well, she is almost glowing now, because Clara called and they spent about two hours hanging on the phones together.

By the way my dear sister is giggly now (two in the afternoon) I guess they decided to have a dinner-date later tonight, so I will be left to myself. I don't mind, I have work to do, that I didn't finish yesterday.

Time to say what I did yesterday.

I went out. I talked to some old friends. Injured soldiers from the army who are from London as well. Most of them have stitches with my name on them. I asked them questions and they gave me answers.

They even recommended a net of underground informants, the homeless. I found few of theirs bases and again and again repeated the name.

Most of them have never heard it, but promised to keep their ears open for me. Seems that an injured ex-soldier who doesn't mind sharing what little money he has is a friend.

But few, few.. few of them had heard it.

Adam Ostranski.

He is an ex-soldier, from the commando under the command of Martin Kuffenbach. Both of them originally from Central Europe, but operating in Great Britain now.

Well, not really. From what I gathered the commando broke and their leader is already dead, so it's probably only him.

But if not.. If they are all together again (sans the leader, of course), I have more on my hands than I thought.

Not that I will do anything. Of course I won't. I am not searching revenge, even though it would be perfectly reasonable for me to be.

But I know that hate can only create more hate. Hate scares me.

I will go out this evening again, so that I can ask once more. It's as if being back in war, London is suddenly 'battlefield' and not just a town.

That reminds me what 'Mycroft' told me:

'Most people see houses, cars and shops when they walk the London streets. But when you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see battlefield.'

I should ask him to go out with me, I want to see the battlefield.

I miss it.

I so fucking miss it.

* * *

**IMPORTANT:**

**Just for your information, the OC characters ( and , also the whole commando of theirs) are from a book called Asphalt by Štěpán Kopřiva. :) Read it, if you are able to get it and like insane books, full of action, blood and manly jokes. It's brilliant. Really.**

**Why's that important? Because of the copyright, obviously. And because I love the book.**

**Review and Smile!**

**Me.**


	11. New Relationship

**26****th**** December**

Oh god. I am surrounded by lunatics. Honestly.

Harry is a lunatic.

Anderson is a lunatic.

Sherlock freaking Holmes is a lunatic.

Mycroft Holmes is a lunatic.

Principal Greg is a lunatic.

Sally Donovan is a lunatic.

And I am starting to thing that the most important man in my life right now (Adam Ostranski) is not only lunatic, but a fucking monkey with a fucking flower hair pin and yodelling halo.

I should probably elaborate, when I already managed to insult everyone who reads the blog.

Well, I haven't insulted Ella, yet. That's it – she should stop reading my blog, if I can't even insult her. I will tell her tomorrow.

Harry, let's start with my sister.

She came home this morning from Clara, wearing the summer dress with flowers and festive looking beanie. She was barefoot and grinning so widely, she would be able to eat banana sideways. I sent her to bed, since she will soon be sporting fever if her dilated pupils are anything to go by. Twenty minutes later I went to check on her and bring her tea, and she was fucking jumping around my bed and singing some pop song.

When I told her to stop being idiot, she just dragged me onto the bed as well and tried to make me dance waltz with her.

Next. Anderson.

He called me to tell me Holmes called him. Really nice from him, right? Well, he told me Sherlock told him never to hit on me again, if he doesn't want to have his head beaten into a cube.

Well, that doesn't really prove Anderson is a lunatic, right? But he is.

Sherlock Holmes.

That's almost self-explanatory, but I will write what happened today, when I went to school to get the study plans sorted.

Holmes told me he reads my blog and that yes, he will go out with me. I _didn't_ mean it like that, but he felt it important to warn me that it will be his first date. Seriously? I mean, he is very charming, I find it weird no one ever got him out on a date.

So we went to get a coffee. And met Mycroft.

That's where the fun begins, because those two started arguing about fucking Christmas celebration, that Sherlock obviously decided to ignore. Then they proceeded to argue about whose fault it is that 'mummy' is angry.

Yes, they are brothers.

Also – Mycroft reads my blog and saw it fit to warn me that I should stop using swear words. He says it's unbecoming.

You know what, Mycroft?

You are a fucking lunatic. You are an pompous ass and idiotic bastard. And if that's not enough, I will ask Harry to tell me new swear words when she finally wakes up from her fever-induced haze.

Back to Sherlock. He's kind of cool, when he actually talks to _you_ and not just _about_ you in front of you.

I just hope we are not officially _dating_ right now, because I have never dated a guy and he never_ dated_ and it would be a fucking mess.

It's almost midnight now and I have to get up earlier tomorrow, because I am meeting Ella.

I went out to chat with the underground net again and got some info about the whereabouts of my _dearest _Mr. Ostranski. He is studying to become a priest.

Fucking shit.

_He _is a fucking _priest_. Is that even possible for someone to change so much? From a fucking _murderer _and generally abusive bastard to person whose quest is to help people?

Well he _did_ have a lot of time to think. I am twenty-eight now, that means he had been imprisoned for 19 years.

_Is _that possible?

I want to talk to him. I so badly want to talk to him. But I want to fucking punch him and kill him and _destroy_ him, just like he destroyed us back then, even more. And I don't trust myself to stay calm.

I doubt I will be able to sleep very well today, but I have to at least try.


	12. Nothing New

**27****th**** December**

Nothing interesting happened today. Really. It was so dull of a day I feel like screaming and doing something crazy, like going out in a costume of Santa Claus, three days after Christmas and barefoot, or asking the people on the streets if they believe in UFO.

Harry has a fever, witch is a bit better than her having a little lamb.

Pop-culture reference, Professor Holmes, if you wanted to ask.

I went to sit my visit with Ella and she told me my blog is more and more interesting with every passing day. I told her to piss off and she found it oddly amusing.

Spent the rest of the day reading, I even read the book Clara got me for Christmas (it's a _child_ book. About a girl, who is a ghost. Very captivating.) called Amelia and Darkness. It was more fun than I thought it would be.

Just shows how much bored I was.

I think I am either catching Harry's cold, or the pots had a faster process than I expected.

Nothing more happened.

Boring.


	13. New Plans

**28****th**** December**

My headache is getting worse. When I woke up, I felt as if run over by a train.

Went to school today, again. I needed to talk to Principal Greg about the equipment in the infirmary. It's seriously lacking. He promised to do something about it. Sounds promising, right? Notice the sarcasm.

When I went to exit the school, I got kidnapped by a grinning-twirling lunatic. Read: Professor Holmes.

I got scolded for using his surname _again_ and tugged out of the building and into a cab.

He kept on bouncing and talking all the while. He looked like a child before Christmas, well at least until he leaned and pecked me on my cheek, immediately reversing back into his bouncing and babbling self.

What the fuck?

I have never been kissed by a man and I have never been kissed in a cab and I have never been kissed by someone non-family onto my cheek.

He just fucking went and destroyed all of my never's in one ten minutes long ride. How unbelievable.

We exited the cab on a rather crowded street and I found myself tugged into an Italian restaurant. Sherlock immediately got hugged by the owner upon his enter and we got ushered into a secluded booth.

Well, I guess that was a date. We even got a candle on the table. Cute.

I really am not sure what to do. I _do_ like him, but I have never felt romantically inclined towards guys. I don't even know how it begun! It was like falling into a river and suddenly finding myself floating trough Rome.

Well, I could always just go along with the stream, at least until I have some general idea about _where_ it was heading anyway. In the meantime I have much more important things to concentrate on.

Such as my favourite priest. I got from a trustworthy source that he will be attending a Service this Sunday at the Church of the Saint Three. And guess where I will be?

You got it, right next to him and maybe asking him a few questions about the service.

That's good, right? Mother was a Christian, (I guess she went to heaven then, right?) so all I am doing is gathering some info about her belief. In her memory. I loved her, that's the least I can do.

And if I want to get to know that asshole in the process, who could blame me?

Maybe it's wrong of me to write things like this here (there are about fifty church of the saint three around the London, so no way of finding me anyway), but I can't not to.

Well, at least no one will ask me questions, since Harry doesn't read it, Ella doesn't talk about it if I don't start, Sherlock doesn't talk about anything but people, preferably dead, Anderson doesn't talk to me and Lestrade is skittish.

My little fun club, hm?

Oh, went out to play the Laser Game again. My team won again. Wonder why is that?

Sarcasm.

I should make those little papers with 'sarcasm' or 'joke' on them to wave them every time Sherlock keeps staring at me with the blank look on his face.

Wait up. This conversation took place today:

"You are shorter than me."

"Really? I haven't noticed."

Honestly, it has to be fucking _clear _that's a sarcasm, right? Right?

That's about everything I wanted to write. I am overdosing myself with painkillers, hopefully, I will fall asleep and never wake up again.


	14. New Habit

**29****th**** December**

Let's face it, my life is pretty fucked-up. Honestly, I feel as if my whole little 'fun-club' is fighting over me like little brats.

I get it I am new to the crew, a novelty, but I am not some prize for the winner. Who would want to win me anyway? I sometimes wake up sweaty and shivering and if I had a gun in my hand, I would shoot everyone who is too close. Or myself.

I know what you think, Ella, but I am not going to off myself. Not now. I think Harry would ressurect me and kill me myself if I did and contrary to popular belief, I _do_ listen to her sometimes.

Probably because she _scares_ me.

Yes – haha, the ex-soldier is scared of his little (older) sister, but you didn't get woken up by her at five fucking a.m., with her jumping onto your bed only in her underwear and demanding I brush her hair, because she has a date in three hours.

_Three hours_.

Of course with Clara, which is another reason I think she is an idiot – Clara had seen her on her worse, she wasn't going to leave her just because her _hair_ is not_ shiny_.

Well, I still spent almost an hour running the brush trough her hair, even though her are almost shorter than _Sherlock's_, so I don't really see the point. Obviously, it calms her down, so it's not that pointless, right?

She left just as the hurricane would, leaving me spent and my headache worse.

I decided I can as well get up now, since I won't be able to sleep.

Checking my phone I noticed the normal doze of Sherlock's informative ones, plus one demanding I accompany him somewhere on the time of New Year celebration. From Lestrade I got a question if I would spend the celebration with him and his mates.

You see what I meant by 'fighting over me'? I should just spend it alone and let those guys spend it _together_.

Having nothing else to do I went to visit our mother's grave, leaving there two white flowers I forgot the names of. It was snowing and the streets were deserted and white, London looking so calm and peaceful.

_Battlefield_.

It was beautiful.

Sunday tomorrow. (Yes Sherlock, I do remember your comment that I shouldn't write _obvious_, but frankly, I don't care.)

Means I will be _busy_.


	15. New Vice

**30****th**** December**

Almost the end of the year. They say we should think about what we did and what we didn't in the last year.

I _did_ go to the service.

I _didn't_ kill him. Neither did I punch him, no. He didn't recognize me, of course not. We talked. I wouldn't have recognized him either, if I didn't know what to look for.

Maybe he honestly changed, or maybe he is just a good actor. Who knows. I don't. I have no right to do anything, though. He already went to prison for what he did, and while it's probably not enough, I can't do anything about it.

Can I let it go? Can I _not_ let it go?

I decided I will spent my celebration at home, drinking _tea_ and reading a book. And sleeping. I don't care. Everyone who doesn't like it, can just fuck off.

Oh – and why not?

A message to everyone reading this blog:

Fuck off. Leave me alone for the rest of the year.

I will switch my phone off and lock myself home, so that no one can text me (Sherlock, Greg) or call me (Harry, Clara, Anderson) and no one can kidnap me (Mycroft, Mike) while I go to buy milk.

I found my old stash of cigarettes when I was searching for a book I wanted to read. It's been long since I smoked the last one (it helped with the stress before a difficult mission), since I got sent to the hospital with too much metal in my shoulder I haven't had even one.

Maybe it's time to end that. Or maybe not.

I stood there in the middle of my living room, holding a smoke between my lips and a lighter in my hand, waiting for something to happen, to show me what to do. Nothing did. I didn't light it, not sure why. Maybe because it would just make me remember all those who smoked with me and never will again. Faces, too young faces. Just a kids. Dying and crying and screaming, the clocks ticking in the background and too loud. Ticking off their lives.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to follow Holmes trough his own home-made battlefield, I am scared one day he will show up here, holding his stomach to stop his viscera, bleeding and dying.

But again, I can't really live without it anymore.

I laid onto my couch, noticing that I was shaking, whole my body caught in tremors, but both my hands were steady. I tried to remember all of them, all of the boys who died beneath my hands but I can't. Their faces are all blurred and I can't remember them.

That's one of the worst things about being the war surgeon. That you are the last one to see them, yet you can't remember their faces, their names. Not after hundreds of them came and left. But the worst is, that you get used to it.

I smoked the cigarette when I came to this point. It's surprisingly calming, I should stop arguing with Holmes about smoking. But well – the amount he is able to smoke in one day, _is_ dangerous. It harbors on being life-threatening anyway.

Turning my phone off, I decided to catch on the latest series of Doctor Who, now that I didn't have anything else to do. Harry is by Clara and will stay there until after the New Year.

And what does that mean? Well, that they are happily together _again_, for one.

But most importantly, it means _peace_.

Too bad I can't really rest. Too much on my mind right now.

* * *

**Yup, I know I am writing Johnny to be a _lot_ depressive about the war. Trying to make it a bit more realistic (not that I would know, have never been in war, after all). Have you ever watched M*A*S*H? One of the most brilliant tv shows.**

**Smile (or not),  
me.**


	16. New Confusion

**31****st**** December**

I woke up to realize I almost slept trough the end of the year. It's eleven pm. Honestly. I instantly went to check my phone, before I realized I kept it switched off.

I debated whether I should turn it on, but decided against it. Even though it's a bit lonely.

Harry is still away. Shouldn't be surprising, and it probably isn't. I can't believe I actually miss her poking her nose into my room every ten fucking seconds to ask me if I wanted anything to eat.

I listed trough Catch 22, not really concentrating on the words anyway. It really is boring to be alone, I should have at least written Mike to visit me with his friends. _Our_ friends, at least before I left. Whatever.

About two minutes to midnight, I turned on the tv to hear the count down. Well, I will have to toast with tea this year.

I remembered the saying 'Like on New year, even trough the year' and chuckled. Seems like I will be doing weird things trough the whole year. And possibly alone.

About twenty seconds to midnight I heard a knocking on my door. I opened them.

Opened them to see Holmes there, looking intently down at his watch. He half-smiled at me, muttering a 'Sorry, couldn't have stayed away'. I heard the 5..4...3.. from my living room, trying to deduce what the _hell_ was he doing here, standing in the doorway and watching his watch.

When the countdown ended in favour of loud cheers, he suddenly leaned to me and kissed me. To say I was shocked would be a bit of an understatement. The kiss was short, gentle, even shy. Seems like I was not only his first date, but his first kiss as well.

I decided 'to hell with it' and kissed him right back. In the background the cheers quieted down and I leaned away. I couldn't help but grin fondly at him, because he looked so damn surprised, his cheeks flushed and lips parted.

"_A new year kiss_." he managed to say trough his fingers on his lips and his obvious shock. Really? I didn't know I am such a good kisser. Before I got to say anything, though, he turned on his heel and left, his long coat swirling after him. Dramatic enough, huh?

I shook my head, deciding not to try and understand this.

Did I mention I am surrounded by lunatics?

* * *

**I will be spending my New Year celebration with my daddy, so no New Year kiss for me. I decided that at least our favourite lunatics should get one :)**

**Smile! And good luck to the New Year! May the Force be with you and what not.**

**Me.**


	17. New Year

**1st January**

Ah, a new year. And it probably will be just as weird and crazy as the last one. Shouldn't have the world ended, though? Might have saved me a lot of troubles if it did.

But no, the world refuses to end and I still have to go to work tomorrow. While the school doesn't start until Thursday, I need to take care of some things concerning the infirmary equipment. Greg let me know he managed to get sent few things I requested, so I would like to see what _exactly_ did those idiots send me.

I am not naïve enough to think they sent me the things I needed. No. That's not how these things work. They probably sent me hundred cough drops.

Maybe I will be able to leave the flat and not get kidnapped today? Somehow, I seriously doubt it.

I switched my phone on and skipped trough about thirty messages from Sherlock, that didn't contain anything important, just really annoying whining about boredom. -Sorry, Sherlock- I deleted them right after.

Mike asked me to come with them to a pub, which I obviously decided not to, since I didn't even read it and Clara with Harry sent me a 'welcome to the new year' message.

Too bad I am still so fucking tired. I wanted to go out for a while, but I don't think it a smart idea. Pressing my palms against my forehead and the back of my neck, I count my heartbeat. Yes, I have a fever. Brilliant. Maybe that's why I feel as if my head is floating ten feet from the rest of my body.

I hope Sherlock won't catch it as well, due to his brilliant idea last night.

Notice the sarcasm.

I just wonder if that is just a simple cold, or I finally caught the pots. If pots, I will probably not manage to go to school tomorrow.

Picking up the phone again, I quickly sent a message to Harry, telling her to stay by Clara, if possible. I don't want her to get ill. She is impossible when having a fever and I don't really want to listen to her whining and moaning right now.

And _I_ have a habit of saying things I shouldn't when I have a fever, so it's best to get her away. I don't want to tell her about _dear_ Adam. She would probably take my gun and go shoot him. She wants revenge just as much as I do, but she doesn't know how much _damage _can a bullet do, so she wouldn't have second thoughts.

We are both impossible, right?

Pressing the keys on my phone, I sent the same warning to Sherlock as well, asking him not to come here if he doesn't want to get sick as well.

He didn't answer, so I hope he is staying somewhere safe (as safe as it's possible on a battlefield, when you are the only one on your side, fighting against everyone else) and far, far away.

I am a bit afraid Mycroft will show up any minute, threatening me with his umbrella because I kissed his little brother (not true, _he_ kissed me) and I wouldn't be able to help it and fall into realm of hysterical laughter, because he is just so fucking comical.

Is there some law against laughing at the British government, anyway? Because I still have the feelings I should serve the Queen, no matter what, and isn't the government almost the same?

Well, Mycroft doesn't look very sublime. Or is it 'he looks too sublime'? He is just too easy to poke fun of. Poor man.

But I guess Sherlock insults everyone, so nothing special, right? Well he has yet to insult me. His usual insults consist of reciting the person's life story and I don't mind that, is that why he decided to date me?

I have a theory it's because I was the first one he let close to him, probably because I complimented him and everyone needs to be complimented once in a while, right?

He's a bit like a child, starving for attention and I decided to give it to him, so he let me in.

It's a bit scary. I am not sure if I can give him what he wants, no matter what that is.

Oh – I spent about three hours on the phone with Molly, she seems really happy. I am glad.

I promised her to go out with her for a cup to talk more, when I feel better.


	18. Newspaper

**2nd January**

Seems to me that the New Year is just as _gray_ and weird as the last one. Not sure why people make such a fuzz about it, really.

On one hand, I am really glad I don't work in a hospital. It's enough to read the newspaper. Around twenty people didn't live long to see today and lots more were injured. Too much. Such a large number.

I don't want to imagine just _how_ horrible I would feel if I were the one to take care of these. On the other hand, I am a _doctor_, yet I was unable to do anything to help, as I was at home.

My fever is subsiding, which means it was only some bug. Which means the pots are still waiting on me. Cheers.

I am not naïve enough to think I wouldn't get them.

Harry is home and doesn't talk to me. My fault, really. It's just too much on me right now. When she got home (after totally ignoring my warning, that idiot) I told her about my little expedition into the mind of Mr. Ostranski and surprisingly she saw my point. Meaning she – _hopefully_ – won't do anything.

Peace.

It should make me feel better, right? It doesn't.

After that I unblocked my blog on Harry's laptop and she disappeared into her bedroom to read it. I partly expected her to yell at me and punch me for one reason or another, but she _squealed_ and _hugged_ me. That was when I remembered I wrote about Sherlock as well. I should probably read my previous posts, right? I am not even sure what I wrote, anymore.

Harry told me she is happy. She told me it's brilliant and she told me she wants to meet him.

Bad idea.

She told me she had always wanted me to marry some mousy woman and have three children, so that she could spoil them and teach them shoot. And she told me she is happy I found myself.

I didn't know if I should cry or scream, because I can't lie. I can't lie to _myself_, I can't lie to Sherlock and I don't love him. He knows, of course he does and he doesn't love me either.

It's not _love_. It's a _need_ to keep someone – _me_ – close to him, to have someone cherish him and protect him and just steady him when he stumbles. Metaphorically said, as well as literally. So he does what he thinks he needs to do, if he wants that.

Because I would have found a mousy woman and have three children and _leave_ his life and he needs me to stay.

Of course he can do that. But I can't. I can't be with someone I don't _love_. Yes, he is attractive, he is _beautiful_, much more so than any woman I have ever met, but I fucking don't _love_ him.

Could I? I know I cherish him, because he is so different and he saved my life – as I hadn't been planning on staying here too long, before I met him. But would I be able to _love_ him? Unconditionally and wholly?

I remembered what Anderson told me – _He will destroy you. Use you and throw you away. He will destroy you. Please, please.. don't let him do it.._

What if he was right? And what if he wasn't? Wouldn't leaving right now destroy me as well?

I snapped at Harry, telling her to fuck herself, that it's not like that and never will be, that we are not like her and Clara, that she doesn't understand.

I sent her away, shouted at her and she left and returned few minutes later – she had been crying – and locked herself in her bedroom.

She's there still. I will apologize, I love her – my little (older) sister. Never wanted to hurt her.

No need for her to know, no need to worry her about nothing.

* * *

**Stop being so depressing! Positive thoughts! Positive thoughts! Viggo Mortensen in a bath with rubber duckies? Positive enough?**


	19. New Date

**3rd January**

Back to school and back to work. I somehow managed not to get kidnapped by anyone.

Both Lestrade and Anderson showed up to talk to me which was nice, but terribly boring anyway. After work, when Sherlock haven't managed to show up, I went to 'his' lab – he was working. Either he was concentrating very hard on something, or just wanted to ignore me.

Leaning against the doorway I waited.

And waited.

It was already at least an hour after the school was locked for the day, when he decided to grace me with his attention.

Surprisingly, the first words he told me was: "I read your blog, I thought you knew that." Of course I did. I mentally went trough my last posts to see, if there was anything that could offend him. Probably not.

And he _didn't_ look offended – for some reason, he looked _hurt_. I blinked at him and asked what's wrong, he told me my assumption was wrong.

I finally realized what the hell was he on about, the post I wrote yesterday. I sighed and asked him if he expected me to _love _him.

He loomed over me in true Sherlock fashion and tastily told me that 'yes', he honestly expects me to fall for him, because he honestly thinks he has fallen for me. I _do_ have my doubts about that, but it was strangely calming to hear him say he actually has _feelings_ and doesn't bother with hiding them from me.

I promised to try, shouldn't be too difficult as I already _like_ him and find him attractive.

After that, Sherlock somehow got us out of the school, even though it was locked, and I decided to return the favour with taking him to dinner – just I invited him over, because Harry promised she won't be home and I wanted to make pizza anyway.

First information – Sherlock doesn't like eating.

Second information – Sherlock doesn't like being proven wrong, so that when Harry came in and she was a she and not a he, how he expected, he refused to talk to her.

Third information – Harry doesn't like being ignored.

Fourth information – Sherlock, when shouted at, shouts right back.

Fifth information – listening to my sister and .. _boyfriend_ argue and insult each other is tiring and irritating, but can be easily solved.

Sixth information – Sherlock is quite easily distracted and can't talk when I kiss him.

Seventh information – Harry is smart enough to just give me a grin and leave again 'to give us privacy'.

Eighth information – when flustered, Sherlock is just too cute and terribly obedient, he even ate his pizza.

I think I am starting to like the insane pace of our relationship. Sherlock left after midnight, refusing my teasing offer to walk him home.

Harry came home around two am – I was still up, terrible, I know, but I wanted to watch The Sphere – and told me he is 'cute, ok, but too rude'.

As if I asked her, honestly.


	20. New Battlefield

**4th January**

I am starting to think that the amount of bad luck I seemed to have while I was a kid and later trough the war, is now getting compensated.

I am honestly and weirdly happy, even though it feels as if my brain got sent somewhere very far away. And I obviously got Sherlock addicted to kissing, because I can't have an hour of peace without him somehow popping in the infirmary and pushing me against the wall.

That's a bit weird, because I was usually the one doing the pushing – aside from few experiments south, about which I would rather not talk – but it's strangely fun.

Just as mysteriously as appearing, he disappears again. And he is surprisingly blushy. I would have thought that a man, who can talk about sex without even looking down, wouldn't blush because of a kiss.

Other than that, things are being seriously boring. Honestly.

Just one thing woke me up from my apathy later this evening – today's news. There was a murder yesterday and the signs and the way are both just too familiar.

Is it possible? Or is it just a coincidence?

I don't like coincidences. Having burnt the newspapers, just to be sure Harry won't read them, I locked myself in my room. I had to ignore my phone – probably Sherlock insisted on texting me about every fucking three minutes – while I created the battle plan.

Seems like I won't need the help of mad professor Sherlock to be back on a battlefield, I can obviously create my own.

It took me about three hours to realize that I had a very good net of spies of my own. And all of them were far too happy to participate. Being an ex-soldier, or even an ex-criminal, had to be _very_ boring.

They are running around the London and spreading the message right now, it's so calming to just lay down and know that the work was being done.

I finally took my phone and checked the messages, rolling my eyes at about half of them. Honestly.

**My brother is an idiot, can I visit? -SH**

**John? You don't have your phone with you? You should always have your phone with you. -SH**

**I am coming over, I am bored. -SH**

**You aren't home. You aren't home and you don't have your phone with you? What – are you an idiot? -SH**

**Ok, forget it. I don't care. -SH**

Obviously, he decided to sulk, before the next message was sent after an hour.

**Don't ignore me. I don't like being ignored. -SH**

That was about seven minutes ago, so I decided to text him back, telling him I wasn't home and my phone was charging. White lie. I will have to block my blog on _his_ laptop right now.

Or not. It doesn't matter, he is a master of all liars, so he shouldn't be too angry with me for lying as well.

Time to sleep.


	21. Newly found

**5th January**

I should stop writing the blog. Honestly.

Today – Sherlock invited himself over and made himself at home on my (our? Since Harry is obviously now living with me) couch, sprawling in a way that was more than a bit provocative. And he asked me – or demanded me – to tell him about the little 'war' I am making and about Adam Ostranski. The cups I was carrying fell down from my hands.

Of course he didn't stop asking, even though I told him to let it go. I had to threaten him to stop every physical contact between us to make him shut about things.

I am not telling him. Ever. That's not his problem.

Harry came into the room, took in the way Sherlock was occupying the couch, squealed and ran out of the flat, probably going to hide by Clara's.

Sherlock was watching it with amusement, and proceeded to pull me onto himself with a grin. I kissed him, watching him as he shattered beneath my hands. He is delightfully sensitive and responsive.

At the end we somehow managed to laze the day away on the couch and watching Doctor Who – I managed to persuade Sherlock to try it, and he not-surprisingly criticized every second scene and surprisingly liked it.

It was late evening when I realized just _what_ was he trying to do, as he refused to leave even though I tried telling him I had work to do. He just gave me a smirk, commenting that I 'can't really go out playing soldiers and leave his guest alone'. I told him he wasn't a _guest_, because he invited himself and he started explaining about etiquette and things.

I used the newly-found way of shutting him up – kiss him.

Harry came back in that moment, saying "Oh god, boys! You are still snogging?" did I say she is delightfully tactful?

Sherlock threw his usual amount of insults her way, which made her throw her pen at him. Just like children, they are.

While they were shouting and throwing things at each other, I managed to sneak out of the flat, going onto my usual walk.

That is another thing to write about – I got into a fight, which was honestly interesting. Three _nervous_ teen boys thought me to be an easy pray, just because I was walking around the less welcoming streets of London.

It was actually quite fun to brush up my shantung skills, which I don't usually do, because I have to take care of the injuries after that. I didn't. It was irresponsible and unkind and horrid of me, but I just looked over them to see that their injuries weren't that serious and turned to leave.

I didn't. One of those kids called after me and in the end, I agreed to teach them fight, if they promised to join me. I sent them to one of the bases with a promise I will be there tomorrow.

That saved me one walk, because they agreed to take my message and then text me the answer. They would be the only ones in that base having a phone, which would automatically make them my link.

I returned home few minutes after midnight, noticing both Harry and Sherlock asleep on the couch, so I just repositioned them into position, that wouldn't hurt their backs and necks, threw a blanket over them and went to soak in a shower.

Dripping wet and finally not smelling that bad I crawled into my bed and got my laptop and phone.

Boys sent me a message that everything is 'ok' so I think I can go to sleep now.


	22. New Conspiracy

**6th January**

Peaceful, peaceful.

Aside from the shantung training and one of the three boys is teaching me aikido now. Sherlock slept till the late afternoon, so he didn't even notice I sneaked out.

The only one nagging at me when I came back, then, was my sister. Well, I guess I get her – I _was_ a bit bloody. I managed to get clean before Sherlock woke up, though.

When he did, it was to complain about his headache and feeling generally sick. That's what he gets for sleeping once in a month. Harry went and brought us all a coffee, which was nice.

Seems that her and Sherlock are getting along together quite nicely, probably formed some kind of conspiracy. Against me.

I shrugged when I watched Harry and Sherlock talk about things, science mostly, which doesn't really interest me. I had other things on my mind.

Sherlock – of course – being one of them.

Adam Ostranski the other and my lucky trio of young delinquents the last.

They texted me trough the afternoon to inform me, that the swelling is really going down with the use of cold compress. They are just too easy to fascinate.

And eager to learn, I noted earlier today, when they showed me how they changed the organization of the base for better. It should update the defences as well as the offensive.

It's brilliant actually. I texted that to them – it's nice seeing them so happy, just because they made me proud. I feel as if I had three sons, which is good, because it partly fulfils Harry's wish for my future.

Now the cats. And I guess I can change the 'nice dull woman' to 'insane brilliant man'.

I started grinning like a loon out of nowhere and both Sherlock and Harry were staring at me. Fortunately, I was saved by my own phone signalling me a new message.

Before I got the chance to read what those three sent me, Sherlock snatched my phone, obviously irritated that 'you are ignoring us and hanging on the phone'.

Was the ever cool and composed one _jealous_ I was paying attention to someone else? That was kind of sweet, about the same way as a puppy bringing you your half-swallowed shoe as a 'gift'. I realized why I don't like dogs right the moment Sherlock threw my phone against the wall and it shattered into pieces.

Seems like I will not be answering messages anytime soon.

After that, I sent him home, Harry to Clara and made myself a hot chocolate, worming into my bed and watching a movie. Science-fiction. Quite fun.

It was called the Sphere and was really pathetic compared to the book, but what can I do.

When the night fallen, I went out to get the daily doze of information from my sources, meeting the Trio on their way home. They told me they had already visited few of them and just told me whatever it was I needed to know.

I told them about my phone and they found it funny. Cheerful lot. Too bad I am making them into my own personal soldiers. Too bad they are so fucking happy about that.

But _three_ is the best number – a healer, a fighter and a operator. And honestly, those three already have everything to be right that.

When I got home, I noticed Sherlock sent me an e-mail, complaining that I wasn't able to use my phone. Honestly, whose fault was that?

To stop him from being irritating, I told him to meet me after he finishes in school tomorrow. I just have to think about where I will take him.

Somehow I can't shake of the feeling, that he would be the happiest if I took him for a date into a morgue. And gave him a full reign over the corpses.

Well, that wouldn't be so difficult to arrange.


	23. New Murder

**7th January**

Well that was interesting. One gal in the school had an epileptic fit – probably due to her first period and the stress connected with that – and whole school was one big chaos. Parents, teachers, students, doctors.

Six pm and I was sorting trough the rest of paperwork. Dull.

I had plans, I had wanted to leave at three and take Sherlock into the morgue (I have a friend there who found this very amusing and wanted to watch the amateurish professional work with his corpses) and maybe to a dinner later.

Well. Too bad.

Six thirty and I am going along with the plan. Morgue, Sherlock looks partly sheepish, partly delighted. A child caught with it's hand in a jar of sweets. Molly called somewhere between dissection of the stomach and dissection of the brain. I had to lay down the scalpel I was holding for Sherlock, as a good assisting doctor, to pick up.

We agreed to meet in the pub in an hour and Sherlock surprisingly agreed to come along. I was _very_ curious to see what he would have to say about Jim.

Their meeting was strangely anticlimactic. I don't know what I expected, but they seemed to found some mutual understanding in ignoring each other as much as possible.

Early night and I was being walked home by the professor. I realized I don't know where _he_ lives, yet he can reach me whenever he wants to. Somehow I doubt his address would be in the papers at school.

Maybe I should alter mine as well. No good in sharing crucial information like this.

Time for my evening walk and I decided to bring Harry with me, if only to be able to chat with her. Believe it or not, but we were very close when young.

She didn't need to know what I was asking the people about.

Beautiful, peaceful and almost surreal, as we walked trough the London and I felt as if from another time. She had her dress and coat and managed to make me wear something looking like a navy coat. It looked suspiciously like something Jack Harkness would wear - I like him, yeah, but that's honestly _not_ my style.

We had to look like a weird couple, our arms entwined. Too bad she is taller than me. I blame the genes.

No new info, too bad. Just a new murder, when the Trio managed to hack the police archives via Harry's phone. Harry's phone is awesome.

A new murder, but an old scenario.

The mother dead by string. The father injured – hit by heavy object over his head. Two children. Left locked in the room. With the corpse and injured man.

History is a circle, right?

Everything changes is the saying, though the truth is, that nothing ever changes. Everything happens again and again and again...

And most of the things happen without reason.

* * *

**Nothing happens. Wait till the morrow ;)**

**Do you know the Piano guys? They are so awesome. Try listening to something, 'cause I am writing this while listening to them (Rolling in the deep and Titanuim) and it adds to the atmosphere.**

**Smile.**


	24. New Illegal Entertainments

**8th January**

Sherlock got a threatening email. Encoded threatening email. Not that it was any creative.

_Sherlock – I am watching you._ How fun. Not that he felt it worth his time to decode it. Obviously, it was much more fun to watch me bandage some lad who fell down the stairs.

I decoded it when I was bored enough – even _Harry_ would be able to write better and more scary threatening messages. Honestly. _I am watching you_.

Who isn't.

They say that everyone's every move is being watched. So where's the novelty?

Ok – seriously though. Sherlock has a freaking stalker. I should be more worried, right? But really, it's _Sherlock_. I saw him shoot and for fuck's sake, he is better than me. And I don't know if he has been training karate or something completely different, but he uses pretty brilliant twist of an arm to disarm people.

One of the Trio – the one who teaches me Aikido – can do almost the same, if a bit more elegantly. It's honestly awesome.

Ok, getting carried away – Sherlock _can_ bloody well take care of himself and if he found me being _worried _about him, he would probably push me trough the window. Or a door. Or a wall.

But _why_ would anyone feel the need to _stalk_ him? I get it – he is smart, he is brilliant. A genius. But _stalking_?

I think I got pretty close to _stalking_ myself in the last few days, though. And today in the evening, I even went that far to stay _three_ hours in front of my favourite murderer's house. My lucky Trio is following him around when I can't and right now we have perfect and detailed map of his whereabouts. Is that illegal? I am not even sure anymore..

The problem is, we started this little project _after_ the second murder. Therefore we don't know if he were anywhere close to the crime scene. So what now? Waiting for the next murder? The worst is, that there is nothing else to do, since we can't really _stop_ it without the information we will get with the next one.

It should probably sadden me more, the feeling that I can do _nothing_ to help. Again. But this is personal. Policemen are forbidden from working on cases that are _personal_ to them and I _know_ why. That doesn't mean I agree with that. Even though I do. And I obviously decided to ignore it.

Well, back to Sherlock.

He got a threatening email. And he doesn't know who from – that's surprising, isn't it? I would have expected him to somehow track the sender. IP address, internet connections, things like that. Well, the track would probably end on some public space – library, university. Very far from the place the sender actually lives on.

Who actually still sends messages like this, though? I mean, people don't usually do this anymore, they solve their problems with getting into fights. Words or fists, doesn't matter.

He doesn't look very worried about that, either. Just about twenty minutes ago he sent me an email with photos of an eye dissected. Looks like he is having fun, right? He is still trying to find out who exactly is Adam Ostranski, without asking of course, because I told him not to do that. That would probably end up being very difficult, as there are no records of him in England and he doesn't know how he looks like.

That's how I like it – no police, no other people, just me and my little faction against him.


	25. New Patients

**9th January**

It's Wednesday and I already need a holiday. It's pretty hectic at school, just today one gal decided to get her ear pierced on the toilet. With a compasses. And no disinfection. Why was she so surprised that in two hours her ear was itchy and getting a light purple colour?

Another gal got a concussion, because she broke one side of her glasses and walked straight into the wall next to the door. I wouldn't have believed that – I would probably think it a terribly cover up for a bullying – had she not done the same right in front of me. Twice.

One lad was cheating during a test and the professor – wanting to _warn_ him – threw a ruler onto the desk next to him, too bad the professor missed and the lad ended with a stitches on his forehead.

Another lad was brought to me from a PE lesson with his arm dislocated. He tried to do a somersault and failed.

Two gals – who were obviously sharing a snack – got food-poisoned because they ate a sour yoghurt.

Seven more children with pox. Great.

Anderson visited me with a burn on his shoulder. I didn't ask him how he got it, but by the way he refused to look at me, I suspect Sherlock threw some of his experiment at him.

That's another thing occupying my time and mind. When bored, Sherlock is truly and honestly nightmare. And for some reason everyone thought I wanted to know whatever it was he did this time.

Principal Greg came and told me Sherlock stole his keys and lesson plans. _How_ exactly he managed to steal something from Greg's table while the man was in the room is a mystery. A mystery I don't really want to unravel.

Sally Donovan – young and rather pretty teacher, who is unfortunately desperately boring – came to inform me Sherlock is throwing things at her every time he sees her. I told her that maybe that's better than throwing insults at her, because it's more straight-forward and honest. She informed me she is a woman, which was really curious since I never thought otherwise.

One of the pupils told me – while I was bandaging her ear – that professor Holmes is the best, because he came, sat onto the chair and told them they should just imagine whatever it is they want him to tell them, because teaching is too dull for him to try today.

All in all.. I got far too many information. I would be able to write his curriculum vitae by now and it will still be sorted under the 'psychology' section instead of under 'biographies'.

Third and still the most important and still most boring thing on my mind and on my day plan is Ostranski and we – me and the Trio – are camping in front of his house. We found out that if we just make ourselves comfortable in the small park down the street from his house, we can still watch him. Therefore I took a blanket and warned the boys to wear warm clothes and we are having a picnic. One of them took cards as well and I taught them poker, so it's much more fun now.

Every now and then we sign a visit to our reports, or one of us takes a little walk after him when he leaves his house.

Most important information probably was that he goes to bed every day at eleven, so after that we can usually go home, with just one of us keeping watch. We tried hacking into a camera to watch his house, but there isn't even _one_ in his street, so too bad for us.

I am keeping watch tomorrow, so it's an early night for me today. I need to have enough energy the next day.


	26. New Tv Show

**10th January**

It's not even a month since I started keeping the blog and since I started in a new work. I can't believe just how fucking much have my life changed.

Sherlock got another threatening message and I am starting to be a bit worried. _Sherlock, I am coming to get you_. These messages would probably be a bit more difficult, if the author didn't insist on starting them all with 'Sherlock'. I mean, really, if you know the first word of the message, there is nothing easier than to find the system.

But it's still quite worrisome, so I persuaded Sherlock to stay by me (and Harry) after school so we can watch if someone is coming to get him. It would be quite funny, but I think anyone who would try to kidnap Sherlock will send him back in three hours. He would literally talk his way out of the restraints.

It was honestly quite easy to persuade him to stay. _But_ he grew bored in about seven minutes, snapped at Harry and she left to Clara. I tried amusing Sherlock by giving him some books he could read, but he told me he had read most of them and the others doesn't look very serious.

We ended watching Doctor Who. I mean, that's probably the only show he can watch while being relatively silent. Relatively. And if it means I have to watch the first season for the fourth time now, I will live, because it makes him occupied and entertained. And it's safe.

School was very uneventful today, by the way. Only _one_ thing happened, but it was still enough.

Well – for some reason Mycroft and his umbrella decided to visit the school and I met him, he was coldly polite but still funny as hell. Sherlock joined soon after, glaring at his brother with all his might. I gathered that Sherlock forbid Mycroft from talking to me and the older decided to ignore it.

Not that I care. It doesn't really matter since Mycroft hasn't managed to tell me anything interesting _or_ important _or_ sensible yet. _But_ then Principal Greg joined us as well and started talking to Mycroft and well, I hadn't known they even know each other.

It was a free period, so there were students in the corridors and just then Sherlock decided to enlighten me. I quote: "Lestrade and my brother are shagging." and he said _that _absolutely calmly and with a straight face. Sherlock really is something.

I have never seen anyone turn just _that_ red how Greg managed. It was truly entertaining.

Back to this evening. One problem – while it's nice having Sherlock here and doing something together (watching the show), I need to leave. And I will get home _late_, because it's my turn to have a watch.

Sherlock took it rather good, he didn't even ask why – _thankfully_, because I wouldn't be able to tell him the truth and I don't want to lie to him – but I am still afraid what will he do to the flat till I get back.

I decided to do an experiment myself and found him another science fiction show online, which I thought he would like. It's a spin off to the Doctor Who, but bit more serious. It's said to be 'for adults', so let's see if it keeps him entertained till I return.

Cold, miserable, tired and bored I got back five hours later – 1am – and Sherlock _was_ still watching. But I guess that's not the only thing that he did. He has an attention spam of a three years old.

He actually told me what he did when I asked. He watched the _first_ episode. Then he watched the _last_ episode. Then he hacked into Harry's computer and downloaded her some anti virus, claiming her computer was 'too risky'. Then he went trough my documents where I had the blog entries and corrected me my spelling mistakes. I told him I am _not_ going to re-post it, since I don't give a damn.

He just shrugged and started telling me just how many factual mistakes he found in the first season (in the first four episodes, since he didn't have the time to watch more, I would say, if he watched the _last_ one as well) and decided my shoulder is the perfect pillow.

I fell asleep shortly after, even though Sherlock was still watching and he didn't turn the sound any more silent. It's really tiresome to play a secret spy.

Secret illegal spy.

At least I am not sending a threatening mails to anyone.


	27. The End

**11th January**

A petty, not-so-petty accident today. I probably shouldn't write it here, but I need to get it of my chest. Maybe I reacted too strongly and maybe I am wrong with what I did, but too late to take it back, right?

It's far too easy to judge people – I was afraid I will do it again. So I ran.

Maybe I _really_ shouldn't write it here, but I can't help it. It's Friday today. Sherlock came with me home after school. Again. It's nice and fun to spend time with him, when he is not insulting everyone he meets.

And I can look after him that way.

And if Sherlock is here, Harry is usually away. Basically, those are moments of peace and tv watching.

But today was a bit different. I think Sherlock decided he wanted to see just how far would I take it if he let me. Or just how far he would let me take it. I don't know.

And oh God, I ran away.

No, not away from the thing he offered – because I will be damned, but he is very attractive – no. I ran away from him, from the fear of judging him, from the fear of being scared.

He wormed his way into my arms somewhere through the second episode of Torchwood we watched, I didn't notice until the end, too concentrated on the show. When I moved to play another one, he closed my laptop and grinned at me. The grin was a new. Easy, childish and yet so very _hot_, I kissed him.

You know, it's about week ago when I decided to try and love him, because I can't stay with anyone I _don't_. And right that moment, when he was grinning at me like that, I realized I actually really _fell_ for him. And hard. I remembered Anderson warning me he will _destroy_ me. Burn me. Use me and leave me, but in that moment, it was all unimportant and stupid and petty.

After that, the seconds were lost in haze and _warmth_ and Sherlock tugging my t-shirt of. I reciprocated and unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it of his shoulders and elbows.

I had a bad feeling about today from the moment I woke up. I had the feeling something _horrible _was going to happen. No, nothing to do with the school or Sherlock, no. Something with _Adam_. Today was the turn of one of the trio to keep watch, but I was ready to go and join him just in case.

Something was going to happen.

Sherlock was beautiful, really, truly and wholly beautiful. I don't think he liked me looking at him, because he kept on turning his head away. I ran my eyes up and down his torso, his long arms.

When Harry was twelve, some older guy gave her marijuana When she was fifteen, she started with stronger drugs, coming home late and looking sick, her skin pale and waxy. When she was seventeen, she almost died, spent three months in the hospital and came out clean. But not completely. Never completely, no.

Not that she still took drugs, no. But alcohol and cigarettes.

My eyes stopped on Sherlock's arm, over a noticeably blue vein, where perfectly visible was a needle mark. And another one on his other arm.

No, Harry stopped with drugs. I didn't have to be scared for her, to cure her back to human, to hold her as she cried and screamed and howled in pain, no. Not _her_. And God help me, I can't do it ever again.

That was when I started feeling sick. Just a small mark, almost invisible, too difficult to recognize for anyone who has never seen it, but not to me. I picked up my shirt, jacket and shoes and ran away, out and far away.

It shouldn't be surprising that I ended in one of the bases, in the base where my Trio was. I didn't tell them what happened and I didn't go to the watch today.

I texted Sherlock. Too much of a coward to face him just yet – I will have to, at school – so I just texted him. That it's over. Everything between us is over. Asking him – no, _pleading_ him – to keep our relationship on professional level only.

I switched my (new, gift from Harry – _again_) cell off and threw it into a bin.

Using one of the Trio's laptop, I blocked the user 'Sherlock Holmes' and 'Mycroft Holmes' from the page of my blog.

It's getting really fucked up, right?


	28. New Crime Scene

**12th January**

There was another murder yesterday. With exactly the same process. Exactly the same traces. What's weird is, that one of the Trio spent whole night out there and saw nothing.

I still haven't gone home, I will have to tonight, though, or Harry will be too worried.

I miss Sherlock. I am surprised just how much I miss him. I made the Trio operator hack his mail – he got another threatening message.

It's starting to be a bit worrying. Maybe I should check- No. No. I can't do that.

We went to see the latest crime scene, but the police won't let us anywhere close, so we instead went to the first one. Of course there was nothing to see there, but the kids noticed that close to every one of the crime scenes was an alley. Potential escape route?

We looked up the areas along the alleys, but didn't see anything suspicious. How curious. Not really. Maybe I could ask Sherlock to take a look.

No. Too bad I decided not to talk to him. Was it wrong of me?

It's too difficult to think. Too difficult to do anything at all. Thankfully it's weekend so I don't have to go to school.


	29. New Beginning

**13th January**

I didn't get much sleep yesterday and I probably know why. Maybe I should visit Ella, or go back home to Harry, too bad I don't want to see either of them. And the only one I want to see, I am too scared too search.

Openly, at least.

I still read his blog and let me tell you, his posts has started being really weird. What the hell is 'Please collect. The pool. Midnight.'? I just hope he isn't doing anything too dangerous. Not that I am one to talk, but _I_ can take care of myself. I survived war. Sherlock didn't. I have a feeling guns scares him a bit, which is the reason why he always fools around with the one he has stolen. From me.

If he at least written there _which_ pool, I could have gone there to make sure he is alive and fine.

It's almost ten in the evening and time to go home. I ended my part of the watch in front of Ostranski's house – should we even continue doing that, since if he _is_ the one murdering again he can obviously get past us? - and heading home.

Much, much later I finally got home. It's almost four in the morning and I don't think I am going to sleep now, since I would have to get up in two hours anyway.

Time to write what happened, right? I just hope Molly won't read it till I get to her..

Well, I was walking home and got kidnapped. Honestly, old fashionably kidnapped. With gun pressed to my temple, ropes around wrists and chloroform in my respiratory system. How cliché.

When I woke up, I had explosives on my front and a jacket over them. And not only some explosives. Complicated and _very_ destructive by the look of it. I detected more then four bases, able to set it all of. No way for me to try and turn it off.

I was a soldier, I was a surgeon, I even sometimes played with traps and explosives, but I still seriously lack experience not to make half of the London blow up.

By the smell all around, I had pretty good suspicion someone took me to which ever was the pool Sherlock decided to visit. The smell of chloride was far to strong for it to be only cleaning supplies and it being any _other_ swimming pool would be far too large coincidence.

Honestly, that idiot. That beautiful idiot really thought for a moment I was there on my own will when I mirrored the words of the person talking trough my intercom.

As if I would ever do anything to hurt him. I showed him the explosives since the voice didn't tell me I am not allowed to and he was freaking _relieved_. I should honestly be insulted he thought me to be an enemy.

The enemy ended being no one other than dear Jim Moriarty, which fact made me almost throw up. Poor, poor Molly. First she fall for someone who not only doesn't find her attractive, but doesn't find _women_ attractive at all, and than she lets herself be chatted up by a criminal mastermind, murderer and psychotic villain. He really _is_ psychotic.

Be it any other situation I may have found some of his stunts comical even, too bad I had about five kilo of explosion hanging over my chest. One bed move and I will end up being confetti.

At the end we survived, of course. I don't know how, I don't know thanks to who, but Moriarty just left, saying something over his shoulder that kind of made sense to me, but not to anyone else.

Last message for me.

'Nothing is ever the way it seems, little Johnny.' The last time anyone called me Johnny, it was my mam before she died and I have a feeling Jim knew that.

Was it true? _Could_ it be true? Or was he just lying to throw me out of my track, and if yes, _why_?

Sherlock told me he is clean for over six years.

I didn't know what he was talking about at first, but when I got it, I realized I really should have known. I _would_ have know, had I not been so scared.

We went home. Well, _I_ went home, Sherlock went with me.

My beautiful idiot.

Sleeping on the couch now, maybe I should get him into the bed since I don't plan on sleeping anyway. His neck would kill him tomorrow if he stayed there.


	30. When a Good Man Goes to War

**14th January**

So it was Moriarty all along and we played fools by stalking an innocent man. As innocent as an ex-convicted-murderer can be, right? But still.. I feel so stupid.

I texted the Trio from Sherlock's phone, hoping he won't mind. Well, he is still snoring on my bed. He really is adorable – somewhere trough the night (four hours) he decided to start hugging my pillow. He looks like an overgrown child, overgrown, beautiful child.

Too bad I will need to wake him up soon, not to be late for work. It's a bit surreal, that after what happened yesterday, we are going to school today.

I will need to search Molly as soon as I get there, to tell her to stay away from Moriarty. I won't tell her why, though. She would be scared that someone tried to kill Sherlock. I think she still loves him. I mean – who wouldn't?

This will be my last post and I will block this blog for public. No need for anyone to read things about us, really. Ella would have to live without giving me a therapy, not that I really need it.

Mycroft was right all the while, _he_ should start working as a therapist. I wasn't damaged by the war, I missed it. And now there is no reason to miss it any more, right?

The war has come to London and God damn me if I am letting anyone hurt Sherlock or my Trio. My little soldiers.

As soon as Moriarty shows his face here, I will know it thanks to the underground net.

It's going to be fun, isn't it?


End file.
